Thank You For Your Input
by sherlawkcrack
Summary: Sherlock has always hated Anderson, but something in him finally clicks that he has been waiting to do for a long time. Proceed at your own risk.
1. Chapter 1

It was just another day at a crime scene. Donovan being a bitch as usual and Anderson being a complete idiot. But Sherlock didn't care for the meantime. He was too busy to be bothered with them, let alone insult them. John was at his sister's, so he couldn't join him in deducing the lifeless body that lay before him, mangled with its face turned towards the floor.

"It was the scorpion." he exclaimed proudly, snapping in z formation.

"The scorpion?" Lestrade's face contorted into confusion. He couldn't believe it, hence the gasp and the widening of his eyes. No - it couldn't be.

"Yes, her pet scorpion," Sherlock informed, circling the body, crouching down and examining it carefully. He knew he had it right, he was Sherlock Motherfucking Holmes, and when you were Sherlock Motherfucking Holmes, you were always right, even when you knew you weren't.

"Turns out the scorpion wasn't as safe as she thought. It injected her with poison and now..." He removed his glasses, bowing his head. "... She's dead."

"Son of a nutcracker." Gregory Lestrade shook his head in disbelief. They would have to get rid of the scorpion, maybe send it to the desert where it couldn't harm anyone any more. He wasn't having any of it.

"I'll be off now." Sherlock nodded and swept out of the room, his coat trailing behind him (he had always thought long coats like the one Snape wore were mesmerizing) as he exited the crime scene, only to be met with Anderson stopping him.

"What do you want, fleabag?" The detective hissed, glaring at Anderson for stopping him. He had no time for this tomfoolery. Why couldn't he just get out of the way and allow Sherlock to go home? It was not that hard!

"I need to say it in private. We're not safe here." Anderson warily glanced around him. Sally was watching from a distance, clearly wondering what they were up to. He couldn't let her in on this - not this time. She wasn't enough for him.

He dragged Sherlock behind a wall into a deserted alleyway. No one could spy on them now, or listen to what they were saying.

"You made fun of the cologne I use, and you're the one that smells funny."

"How dare you!" Sherlock boomed, roughly shoving Anderson against the wall. He leaned in close to hiss in his ear, his words harsh and colder than ever. "Instead of insulting me, you should put your mouth to good use."

With that, Anderson was on his knees in an instant, Sherlock's trousers were to his ankles, and Anderson's tongue was dragging up the detective's thick member.

"Oh, Andy..." Sherlock groaned in pleasure. He had waited for this for so long.

Before he knew it, he was pressed against the wall face forward, a zipper came down and Anderson was pushing his beloved treasure up his cake hole. He pushed deeper with a loud moan, and it wasn't long before Sherlock came with a shuddering cry, and the other man's icing filled him whole. Anderson pulled out shortly afterwards and pulled up his trousers again, eyes raking over the hunk of a detective as he did the same.

"Well?" Anderson pressed, waiting for Sherlock to say something.

"Yes, um... thank you for your input." And then he simply walked away with a smirk, hips swaying as he swaggered back to Baker Street.


	2. Chapter 2

"How did your case go last week?" John asked curiously. He was back from his two week stay at his sister's. "Sorry about missing it."

"No, it was... fine. Went well as usual." Sherlock answered and cleared his throat awkwardly. If John knew, it wouldn't end well at all. In fact, if anyone found out about what had happened between the detective and Anderson - no, he didn't want to think about it, about _him_.

"Are you all right, Sherlock?" John was concerned as he stared at Sherlock longer, wondering why he had gone a dark shade of crimson.

"I'm... I'm fine, John." he insisted, already able to feel himself hardening at the thought. He hadn't forgotten what had happened that day at the crime scene: Anderson shoving his glorious wand up his chamber of secrets. He couldn't help it as a soft groan escaped past his lips.

John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. His friend was acting weirder than normal. What could possibly be the matter with him? "Sherlock..." he muttered, watching as the detective turned into a soppy, giggly mess on the armchair. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sherlock didn't answer. His eyes were closed, concentrating on the scene in his head, replaying it over and over again until he found himself fully erect. "John," he murmured softly, gesturing for him to come over. "I need you to fix something for -"

"WHO NEEDS SOMETHING TO BE FIXED FOR I AM HERE!" Moriarty burst through the door all of a sudden and the room erupted into killer rainbows and unicorns, with flesh eating leprechauns and a potato meteor shower. He started to do a jig to summon Satan, then the floor began to break apart as lava seeped through the walls.

"PISS OFF!" Sherlock and John shouted in unison, glowering at Jim who had just cock blocked them.

"Oh, I... I thought you needed my help," Moriarty stopped dancing and pouted sadly, upset he hadn't been able to join in. "C'mon guys, maybe some other time, yeah?" He disappeared through the door with the leprechauns, unicorns and the killer rainbows following after him.

"He has some issues." Sherlock shook his head angrily, his horniness gone. "God..."

"You called, my son?" The Lord appeared in a blaze of white, flashing the detective a warm smile. He sat down on the arm of the chair Sherlock was seated in, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No, I..." Sherlock started, staring up at the man.

"I've seen what you've done, my son, and promise me, your secret is safe." He winked seductively.

"What is he talking about, Sherlock?" John asked confusedly, eyes flickering from Sherlock to God.

"Nothing, John," Sherlock stood up, happier God hadn't touted on him like a bitch. "Now if you'll excuse us, we're going scarf shopping." He walked towards the door and left John staring in awe at his beauty as he left 221B.

Sherlock had left the building.


	3. Chapter 3

John was out again. Only this time he had gone to buy milk after Sherlock constantly pestering him for some because he needed it for an experiment to test if the milk actually came from a crocodile platypus.

"Yes, John, I know what I'm doing," he had told him, tuning his violin for his next new hit number. "I'm a professional."

And John had left, leaving Sherlock with the flat to himself.

John would be back in less than an hour, he thought to himself as he held the phone to his ear, nervously playing with a lock of his hair and chewing chewing gum as he waited on his bff to answer. He hated having to be so secretive, but it was the only way.

Within a couple of minutes, Anderson broke through the window with a sledge hammer and climbed through, stepping onto the broken pieces of glass and wiping the sweat from his sweaty forehead.

"The door was open." Sherlock informed him, though he had to admit, Anderson breaking into his flat was very... sexy. And as he was so hot, the glass simply melted under his feet as he embraced Sherlock in a cock wrestle and pinned him down on the desk, using his magic and shit to get some whipped cream from mid air and cream the detective's sensitive weiner.

Anderson licked the cream away as Sherlock moaned, then he grabbed the bottle of whipped cream again and stuck the end of it up the detective's dragon's den and let the cream fill him up whole until it was foaming out of Sherlock's mouth.

But oh no! What they didn't know, was that John was on his way upstairs. Dramatic music started playing in the background as he got closer and closer, and once he spotted Sherlock and Anderson, the bag of milk fell in slow motion (like in those dramatic movies where they find their one true love cheating) and splattered all over their carpet.

"John!" Sherlock gasped and spun round. "It's not what it looks like."

Anderson pretended to check the watch that wasn't actually on his wrist, but he was imagining there was one and tricking everyone so that they believed there was one. Then he grabbed the sledge hammer and broke through the next window before climbing out and disappearing.

"I have something to tell you, John." Sherlock stood up and crossed the space between himself and the doctor as Anderson fled into the sunset, escaping yet another crime scene.

"Wh-What is it?" John asked, perking his lips slightly as he waited expectantly for what was to come next.

"I'm not really who you think I am. Everything's been a lie."

"Go on." John leaned closer and waited in growing anticipation.

"I'll show you."

Sherlock moved closer and with one swift movement, a hand reached up to his hair and tugged on it. Off came a wig, and in Sherlock's place, stood Miley Cyrus.

The secret was out.


End file.
